Volume 2: Issue 4 F I r s t P E r s o n P l u r a l June, 2000 Newsletter for Dissociators and their Allies

C O N T E N T S Subscription Renewals Editorial Statement ...... 2 A Day in the Lives (MPD Toon) ...... 2 Doesn't time fly? ☺ Yes, its that Writing to Dear Kathryn...... 2 time of year again. Current subscribers who wish to continue Dear Kathryn...... 3 to receive FPP please complete

Location of Subscribers 1999/2000 ...... 4 and return enclosed form with ...... 4 payment. Deadline for renewals th is September 9 . The Beast (short story) ...... 5 New subcribers - use form on Purple Morning (poem) ...... 6 back page. Thank you.

Play Centre...... 7

Please hear what I'm not saying ...... 9

Dissociation and headaches...... 10

Drawing by Sheelah...... 12 A Real Life Fairy Story...... 12

MPD from Carole's Point of View (poem) .. 14 IMPORTANT - New email address Writings of a Ritual Abuse Survivor ...... 15 First Person Plural has a new email

After the Horizon Programme ...... 16 address [email protected] Subscription Form for New subscribers ..... 16 Emails sent to the old aol address will not reach us as this account is now closed.

First Person Plural, PO Box 1309, Wolverhampton, WV6 9XY, United Kingdom Email:- [email protected] First person plural

Editorial Statement While every effort will be made to keep contributions complete and unedited we reserve the right to make amendments when necessary. Decisions about the inclusion and amendment of contributions are the burden of the editor and are final. Contributions do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of First Person Plural, members of the steering group or the editor. Inclusion of any reference to an individual or organisational resource should not be taken as a recommendation. The contents of this newsletter are for information and support purposes only. The newsletter is not intended to be a substitute for individual therapy or professional supervision. It is intended that the newsletter will complement, not replace, other networks of support

Contributions to next issue to be received by 9th Sept, 2000 articles; stories; resources; book reviews; tips; poetry; artwork; personal experiences

IMPORTANT : - When writing to First Person Plural please make it clear if your letter, article or other contribution is for publication and say which, if any, of your personal details can be printed. The editor will assume permission to publish if you do not make your wishes clear.

ATTENTION Material in this newsletter may trigger painful memories and feelings. Read with caution and appropriate support if necessary

See more MPD Toons on the internet at www.mirrorlady.net or in future issues

Writing to Dear Kathryn...... Keep your letters brief

State clearly that your letter is for publication.

If you wish to receive direct responses give permission for your contact details to be printed.

If you wish responses to be forwarded from the FPP address it is essential you send a large 33p s.a.e. Your letter will be printed with a number.

No replies will be forwarded if you have not sent an s.a.e. 2 Volume 2 : Issue 4 Dear Kathryn….

First Person Plural encourages respectful open comment and debate about the issues, ideas and experiences of people who are dissociative, their supporters and allies. We welcome letters inspired by any article or other material published in the newsletter and other topics of interest to readers.

To reply to a numbered letter place your response in a sealed envelope with the number of the letter you are replying to marked on the outside and place inside a second stamped envelope addressed for posting to;-

Kathryn Livingston, First Person Plural, PO Box 1309, Wolverhampton, WV6 9XY email [email protected]

Editor's note - I have received no letters for publication since the last issue. However, Madeleine has sent in this poem with an s.a.e. and a request that it be published with a number so people could respond if they wished.

This poem was written in September 1996 when we were trying to understand our multiplicity.

From Madeleine:

Hello, Hello, Friend or foe, Friend or foe, Can I come where you can go? You can come where we can go. Can I see when you are blind? And what we never let us show Are you free when I am bound? You can feel, and you can know. Are my tears your pain or mine? Is your grief mine, out of time? From Jesus:

Is my child in you concealed "I in you and they in me or are your parts through me revealed? As three are one, and I am three. If I am lost, then are you found Choose this day whom you will be, or do we share this measured ground? Single, silent: Plural, free." If you are truth, am I a lie? If you are me, then who am I? Madeleine, 2.4/1

From my Family:

We are captive, you are free When you are you and we are we, But when you're bound, we can see, Then we are you, and we are free.

You are us, can you not see? That we are many, bound yet free. We will never let you be A soul alone, for you are we.

3 First person plural Location of Subscribers 1999 / 2000

Who subscribes

Dissociators = 58 of which Members = 31

Therapists & other professionals = 21

Friends & relatives = 11 3 Organizations = 8

Others = 2

2

Overseas = 8 6 USA = 6 New Zealand = 2

7 8 4 8 13 21 4

16 Total = 100

4 Volume 2 : Issue 4 The Beast by Jane

Editor's Note: this short story recalls a first memory of splitting. It contains some graphic word images of abuse which might trigger. Please read with caution and support if necessary. Give yourself permission not to read at all if that feels safest.

The room was cool, and very still, everything in it's usual place. I could hear the sound of laughter down below as the adults talked and drank wine. This was their time so I couldn't interupt or tell them the secret. I waited for the return of the Beast. I waited for the creak on the stairs, the latch on the door, the turn of the lock, the footsteps that come nearer and nearer, all so strangely familiar.

I pretended to be asleep as I always did, it was the easiest thing to do. That way it did not need to be real, it could all be a dream, I could be whoever I wanted to be, I did not have to be me at all. At first I did not know that he was a wolf dressed in sheeps clothing. He was so gentle at first. I even looked at him once and he did not seem all that frightening at all. I liked the feel of the soft touches, the hand gliding backwards and forwards across my body. I even wondered what I had done to receive this nice feeling. I kept very still, there were no words spoken, but then I was supposed to be asleep and he told me it was best to stay that way.

Then somewhere in the tingling feeling came a flash of panic, DANGER ran through my body like lightening. The nice feelings were replaced with terror, choking, I couldn't breathe. The child had awoken from her sleep, she wanted to wriggle free but she couldn't move, she was pinned down, the Beast had returned. She was choking, her throat tight - she felt the hand that prevented her scream. She felt she would stop breathing soon, she was scared. The Beast moved faster, more frantic and aggressive, her body crushed beneath the weight of his. The Beast was over the top of her, she caught sight of his piercing eyes.

Quickly she thought of the sun, thought of the rain, anything to stop the pain that she felt. She focuses on the window, the darkness, the moon. "That's the moon", she told herself, "cling to it, focus on it, don’t lose sight of it". She could hear the laughter of his sick satisfaction, she panicked. "Don't let go, or you'll die, hold onto the moon". He hurts, he pushes hard and she feels pain going through her whole body. All she can do is look through glazed eyes and hold onto the moon.

5 First person plural For a brief minute she feels pain. "I'm going to die", she tells herself, "I'm going to die, going to be sick, I can't move". Her breathing goes out of control, she tries to focus on the moon, but she shrinks back into the blackness as she passes out. The child is lying back in her bed.

Perhaps I am dead, I'm very still, I feel numb, just like I slipped out of my body. In fact it was true she knew that she was dead. It wasn't very beautiful like in the movies, but she looked the right colour for dead, she was drained and waxy looking, straight faced like a porcelain doll. She was quite dead. It felt a strange thing to be killed like that, in you rown bed as well. Even more bizarre to have to clear up after yourself. Usually someone finds you and sorts you out when you are dead, call the undertakers to remove the body, but I done it all myself. Of course, I couldn't tell anyone that as they would never believe me. But I stood up from my bed, afraid to move. I could see the blood, not mine though, it was far too red to belong to me, that was part of the dream and that’s the way it should be kept, just a bad dream, then it does not have to be real. After all once the blood was cleared up no one would know anyway. Nothing looked any different, it was like waking from a bad dream, except there was no one there to hold me.

She dragged the dead corpse across the room to the bathroom and started washing the body. She shook it to make sure it was quite dead. Then she would lie the body back to rest in the clean sheets, just as if nothing had ever happened. She thought to herself being dead hardly hurt at all.

Purple Morning by Rhymaster

Like an unmade bed; chaos in my head Heaps of purple blankets abandoned by the dead. Straighten out the sheet, folding corners neat. Smother purple feelings before the day you greet. Tidy up my room with psyche-cleaning broom Sweeping purple memories into the deepest tomb. Pretty up my face, hide the night's disgrace. Cover purple bruises; marks of vile embrace. Start another day, a lying role to play. Keep the purple secret; be happy, smile, be gay. Letting no-one know; pain and shame don't show This fearful purple morning after sleeping with the foe.

6 Volume 2 : Issue 4 J o k e s

HoW many sheep does it take to make a sWeater?

I didn't even knoW sheep could knit

History Teacher : - Martin, Where Would I find Hadrians Wall?

Martin: - Wherever Hadrian left it, Sir!

Books On the shelves in the library

"Butterflies of the World" By Chris Aliss

"Bird Watching" By Haydn Secombe

"Drawing and Painting" By Art N Desine

"Stamp Collecting" By Phil Attlee Picture to Colour

7 First person plural

A Bear At Bedtime

One bear in a bed is cuddly, and two are better still. With three teddy bears you are sure to be warm And just one more is no problem at all.

Five teddy bears in a bed can help you sleep, while six teddy bears are very good indeed, Seven is a lucky number for bears. And eight teddy bears are best of all. But nine teddy bears in a bed? Be careful! There may not be room for you.

M A G I C S Q U L F A R E

Complete the grid to make four words which read the M same across and down. Some letters have been entered to help you and here are some clues. I 1. Opposite of right 2. An Arab ruler E 3. It is hot T 4. A large plant

8 Volume 2 : Issue 4 Please hear what I am not saying Author unknown

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks; masks that I am afraid to take off and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that is second nature with me but don't be fooled; for God's sake don't be fooled. I give you the impression that I'm secure; that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without; that confidence is my name and coolness is my game; that the water is calm and I am in command; and that I need no one. But don't believe me, please.

My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask; my ever-warying, ever- concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness; no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion; in fear; in aloness. But I hide this. I don’t want anyone to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind; a nonchalant, sophisticated façade to help me pretend; to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only salvation and I know it. That is if it is followed by acceptance; if it is followed by love. It's the only thing that liberates me from myself; from my own self-built prison walls; from barriers that I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself - that I am really worth something. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid you'll think less of me; that you'll laugh and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep down I am nothing; that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me. So I play the game; my desperate pretending game, with a façade of assurance without, and a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks, and my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that is really nothing and nothing of what is everything; of what is crying within me. So when I am going through my routine do not be fooled by what I'm saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying; what I'd like to be able to say; what for survival I need to say but what I can't say. I dislike hiding. Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing; the superficial, phoney game. I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous, and me, but you have got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand even when that's the last thing I seem to want, or need. Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging; each time you try to understand because you really care my heart begins to grow wings; very feeble wings, but wings. With your sensitivity and empathy, and your power of understanding you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can help recreate the person that is me if you choose to. Please choose to. You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble. You alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic and uncertainty; from my lonely prison. So do not pass me by. It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach me, the blinder I strike back. I fight against the very thing that I cry out for. But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls and in this lies my hope - my only hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I you may wonder. I am someone you know very well. I am every man and I am every woman you meet. I am the person that you see in your mirror; the person behind the masks. 9 First person plural Dissociation and Headaches Causes and Remedies By Sara Lambert

The most common symptom reported by people with dissociative disorders is headache. Most multiples report that their headaches are extremely painful, often to the point of being literally blinding. Medication seldom works to relieve the pressure or pain. There are some different explanations for why multiples get more headaches than the general population.

STRESS: Life can be very stressful for multiples. In addition to normal daily problems, you have to deal with post-traumatic stress arising from your abuse history. Other stresses specific to multiples include lost time, waking up in the middle of situations, trying to find ways to continue functioning when all you want is to hide under your bed forever. All of this can leave nerves ragged, muscles tense. It can also drain you of emotional strength. Headaches are a natural result. Considerable physical stress is also a consequence of having a dissociative disorder as you use your physical senses to contain and come to terms with your psychological disabilities and "strange" experiences. Take de-realisation, for example: a common occurrence of dissociative misperception wherein the world seems distorted or two-dimensional. The effort to focus your vision all the time can cause eyestrain and thus headache. On top of this, it can be incredibly distressing to experience de-realisation. The emotional toll is enough in itself to cause headache. But it doesn't end there because, in addition to the physical effects of trying to deal with dissociation and the emotional effects of it, most dissociators also fight hard to hold everything together and look "normal" to the outside world. This can be exhausting, especially when selves are struggling to get out. As the brain works furiously to manage all these layers of stress, the dissociator develops a headache. To relieve stress headaches, find what works best for you to ease tense muscles. Some prefer ice whereas others need to stand in a warm shower. Massage can be helpful. Music is soothing but, for some people, the noise simply adds another layer of stimulus onto the load the brain already has to deal with. Some find the only thing they can do to help the pain is sleep. This works by giving your body a chance to rest and revitalise. There are also a number of self-hypnotic techniques you can use to let the stress and pain go. As dissociators are highly hypnotisable, these techniques can be particularly effective. You can create any hypnotic scenario you want from your own imagination. For example, fill your mind with a gentle, soothing colour that washes the pain away.

OVER STIMULATION: Multiples are very prone to pressure-type headaches caused by too many incoming stimuli. This barrage of "noise" may come from inside - e.g. too many alters standing near the front of consciousness. The noise may also come from outside - too much sound or colour. There are two reasons multiples are overly sensitive to external stimuli. First, because of their chronic abuse experiences, multiples have developed a hyper-alertness, which means they are constantly aware of

10 Volume 2 : Issue 4 everything around them in case danger is lurking. Secondly, they have so many different "eyes" perceiving the world around them, often simultaneously. To help ease headaches caused by over stimulation, ask inside for everyone to step back and give you some space and quiet. Explain that it's more effective for them to tell you about their experiences when you have time and energy to listen properly. Alternatively, they may like to write in a journal if they can't wait. Some multiples find it helpful to carry pen and paper around with them for this purpose. There are ways to achieve ventilation of some of the noise - deep breathing exercises are good for this, and again you can use a number of self-hypnotic techniques, such as picturing a steam- valve on the side of your neck. If you find it overwhelming to go out in public surrounded by "noise pollution", you could try wearing a walkman that is playing peaceful, soothing music which blocks out the other noise.

SWITCHING: Switching from one alter to another causes headache mainly when there is conflict between the selves for control. The solution to this is better communication and co-operation within your system. When there is a disagreement about who should be "out", many selves may be happy to accept a third party to take the out position to act as a mediator so both voices can be heard through her. Often this third party is an automaton self who has few sensitivities of her own, and so is not disturbed by being a channel through which others can communicate. Another suggestion is that the two selves stand in a place on the edge of inside, where they can be heard without a complete switch having to occur. Most people find that, as their co-consciousness increases, struggles for control (and the consequent headaches) cease to be a problem. There are some multiples that experience headache or other symptoms, such as nausea or dizziness, with even the most uncomplicated and unconflicted switches. This is usually the case for those who are early in their healing process, or whose dissociative barriers are profound. It is not surprising when you consider the physiological changes that happen when a multiple switches between alter selves. It has been proven that selves have their own unique pattern of brainwaves. Furthermore, everyone has at different ages a different biochemistry and mental capacity - thus the switch from adult to child is going to be more physiologically complex than between two adults.

SPILLAGE: When alters have disputes between themselves at a subconscious level, or when one is seething because of some anxiety they have, the tension often emerges in the form of headache. In this way, the person who is out may have a migraine without being aware that it is being caused by a stroppy teenager who is figuratively stomping around inside because she is angry about something. Alter selves are also notorious for sending headaches to the front person as a kind of message. This headache can be seen as a kind of acting out. In cases like these, pain-killing medication is of no use, because there is no actual physiological problem - the pain results from emotional disturbance. It is necessary to get the selves talking to you about what is going on for them. If they are willing to do this, there is a better chance they will get their needs met than if they simply radiate wordless feelings and pain.

11 First person plural

A Real Life Fairy Story By Writer on Glass, with Lili, Little Caro & friends

Once upon a time, a long, long time warm fabric and she did not feel ago, there lived a very little girl. She afraid. In that room she could feel lived in a tiny house where there were loved; she could believe she was safe two rooms. Although they stood and that she need not be afraid. right next to each other, the rooms did not seem connected. There did The other room was dark and cold not seem to be any way to move from and gloomy. There were no windows, one room to another without going the door had stiff, heavy bolts and out through the front door first and the floor was hard and stony. In that then coming back in another way. room she was always afraid. When the little girl went in this room it felt One room was quite warm and sunny. as though she would be there for ever When the little girl lived in that room, and that there was no way out. She it was easy for her to feel happy. In knew there was a door, after all she that room she could not see any dark cam ein through a door, but once she corners, she could feel no cold, biting was in the room she might as well winds, the floor was covered in soft, have been in an underground prison

12 Volume 2 : Issue 4 with iron bars and giant crocodiles and uncomfortable. A heavy feeling guarding a moat outside. In this came over the little girl: like the heavy room there was no light. In this room feeling of a bad dream when you there was no warmth. In this room wake up all stiff and afraid to move. there was no one who could see or Only this was worse because she was hear or touch the little girl. In this awake - unless this really was just a room she was all on her own for ever. bad dream and she didn't know how to wake up! One day the little girl was sitting in the warm room practising her reading The little girl could not move. She and writing. She loved to read and looked around her but there did not write, it made her feel so grown up seem to be any way out. Dimly she and it seemed to make her mother thought she could see a door, with happy. Suddenly her mother stood keys hanging in the lock but up, took the little girl by the hand and something told her it would be led her through a door, down a long useless to try to escape. In her head dark passage and into another, she could see outside the door and strange room. The little girl was not her heart began to sink. afraid. After all, she was with her mother so she knew that she would She knew without looking that there be all right. Everything was always all were eyes everywhere, inside and out, right when she was with her mother. watching, waiting, hoping she would So she held her mother's hand and cry out, hoping she would struggle, followed her into the cold, dark room. hoping she would suffer. She She shivered as she held tight onto understood what would happen then. her mother's hand. She could hear them laughing under their breath. Suddenly her mother pulled her hand away, leaving the little girl's hand The little girl tried very hard not to empty and cold. The little girl looked cry. She bit her lip, held her breath, about her and felt a twisting pain in turned her heart and head to ice and her insides. She shuddered. All at her feet to stone. But still the sobs once she recognised the room and came and the tears fell from her she knew she had been there before - empty, blinded eyes. She felt frozen if only she could remember when. in time, lost and all alone. Worse She stood very still, trying not to still, she knew she could not escape, make a sound. Very carefully the that she was trapped here for ever little girl looked round the room, and ever and that there was nothing hoping that she had made a mistake. she could do. No one would ever She really couldn’t remember this come back to save her, she was place, it was just her tummy was destined to stay locked inside this mixing her up and making muddles bleak room for eternity. in her head. After all, she had come here with her mother, so nothing It was like suffocating under heavy could be wrong really. wool blankets, drowning in dirty water, wading through sinking mud, At that moment the door slammed trying to scamble up a sheer cliff shut behind her and she was alone. It face, stumbling through brambles was dark inside. Cold and dark and and stinging nettles, looking for a ray scary. The floor felt hard and rough of sunshine in the darkness. She and the bare furniture looked large knew then that the only thing for her 13 First person plural to do was to give up completely. she was now a woman. She had a That way, although it would hurt, it strange feeling inside, a sense that would soon be over - for ever. Then something was not quite right. That they could hurt her no longer. very evening she had a dream - perhaps the most scary dream she After what felt like forever, the little had ever had. It was so scary that girl opened her eyes and found that when she woke up she did not dare to she was back in the warm room breathe or move or make any noise. again, with the sunshine and the soft She just lay there petrified, walking floors and her happy families life. backwards through her chilling Everything was just as it had been. It nightmare. was as if she had never been away. Everything looked exactly as it always Yet the strangest thing about it all did and the people were doing the was that this terrifying dream seemed same things they always did. The so familiar, as if she had been there other room seemed just a vague many times before, long ago when dream and, just like a dream, it she was small. The woman was glad, slipped away behind the curtains and then, that she was grown up and was gone. It was as if someone had strong - big enough and strong taken a board rubber and rubbed it enough to go back into the scary out. All that was left was chalk dust. world of the cold, dark room and bear to see what she had to see. She could For years and years the little girl lived even take the very little girl with her, like this. For some of the time, to help her make sense of the perhaps most of the time, she lived in blankness and the muddles in her the warm room, thinking happy head. thoughts and growing up like any other girl. From time to time, though The woman could hold her hand, so how often she cannot say, she was she did not feel so totally alone, taken back into that cold, dark room could help her to listen to the scary and left alone and terrified, for ever whispers from the dark voices and and ever. Each time she woke up and bring brightness and warmth into the found herself back in the happy chilly emtiness. Together they could families room. Each time she forgot explore the whole tiny house and everthing that there was to know, open up the padlocked door which everything she had felt, about the kept the two rooms apart. Then they dark, cold room - until the next time, could know all they needed to know and the time after that. about the house and about themselves. Then they could feel safe One day many, many years later, the and sound and they could be truly little girl looked at herself carefully free and saw that she was grown up, that MPD from Carole's point of view Where am I now that I need me? I wonder if I'll come back tomorrow Exactly where have I gone? Should I keep my arms open wide? I'm so terribly alone here without me, I wonder if I'll ever see me again, To be living seems so terribly wrong, Take my place back here at my side. Once I did most things together Maybe I've simply misplaced me, I went for walks hand in hand, Maybe I shouldn't have cried, I shared my life so completely Maybe I've never been here at all And I met almost every demand. And its long ago that we died.

14 Volume 2 : Issue 4

WWWRRRIIITTTIIINNNGGGSSS OOOFFF AAA RRRIIITTTUUUAAALLL AAABBBUUUSSSEEE SSSUUURRRVVVIIIVVVOOORRR by Kali

Part 1 : Naming what it was that I haven't told you you can't notice what I've shown you - making it come out that I've slipped around the eyeball They put an eye in me blocking the way forced it in my mouth what's got round the hole in my throat when I was in infant school where it was meant to disappear I'd stand there but I made it come out by the gate like I am making this come out. by the field full of it in my mouth I pray to be stronger that this all seeing eye of wishing I was on the otherside Satan. I heard with my today ears that I'm not expanse and free the only one who's had this eye put in them, it's but I was at the gate not just me. It's not just you. We're stronger revolted and sick when we are we, so I thank you unable to get it out it's here to this day today it's in my throat Part 2 : After the Naming there was a hole there - in tenderness because where it is I'm not it eats me away like acid Can you feel the opening? in this body I hate like the unfurling of petals, it in me but I can't get it out of lips of vagina, it sees everything unfurling, spreading, and makes me sick spaciousness seeping in makes me bad like morning mist if I open my mouth to say….. wetting inner caverns, if I get close to saying what it was that open to it's touch, it will tell them to the winds of naming they know everything that have been spoken, and they won't let me transforming, they'll hurt me reaching deep places, they hurt me each cell changed and changing, it's still in me deep places that have been frozen, and I hate it warmed by the love, I want it out strengthened by the courage, I want to sick it out as I name what has been kept apart, but I don’t know how as I learn to live with what I don't know how to, it's stuck as I allow myself to be, today it's here finding spaciousness in tight places, because I said too much melting warmth where it's been hard. because I say too much I'm an explorer of new vistas, even though it seems to you Unfurling, revealing the beauty of my soul

15 First person plural After The Horizon Programme! by Naome James

I am currently having treatment with a psychotherapist who is fully aware and experienced in treating DID but I am also involved with the psychiatric services. Part of my care plan includes visits from a community psychiatric nurse for whom the whole concept of DID was totally alien. She made a point of watching "Mistaken Identities" (A BBC Horizon programme on DID broadcast in November, 1999) in order to try and gain some new insight and understanding. WHAT A MISTAKE. The total misconception of the condition she got from the programme was highlighted at our next meeting and marked a definite downturn in the therapeutic relationship. I was deeply affected by this and felt strongly enough to write the following poem. [Ed's note - Mistaken Identities was filmed entirely in America and showed a sequence filmed in a therapy session which included the therapist asking the client to switch into a child alter]

Susan, can I speak to Suzie now? In even layers? I cannot comprehend how Think instead Karen could be so beguiled Of a World Cup match And think therapy is easy. With too many players Does she think of us as filed All fighting for fame - Away in neat little boxes Fists at the ready Ready to be called up This isn't a game. To answer to a whim Which ones will stay To please, to comply? And which ones will flee, Then let her tell me why Knowing whoever is left It so often feels like sink or swim, Has to answer to me? With struggles, conflicts, battles That is a task too hard to fulfil - Raging deep within - Makes the rest of the world Sudden onrush, harsh onslaught, Think I'm mentally ill. Like volcanoes erupting under the skin. But that is a label I'll carry no more, How could she have even thought Though long past still uncertain We exist in rows And future unsure.

After this I invited my CPN to sit in on one of my psychotherapy sessions, to enable her to see, hear and understand that the switching and dissociation process is not as linear and simple as Horizon made out. This combined with allowing her to read the poem did enable us to build bridges and she is now willing to ask me for clarification and explanation as we go along. Hopefully, things can only get better for both of us as a result. Subscription Form for NEW subscribers only Return form with a cheque / PO made payable to First Person Plural Name: ______Address: ______£10.00 subscription (1 volume = 4 issues) ______ Therapists / Counsellors Post Code: ______ Psychiatrists / Other Doctors Please tick which applies Psychologists Nurses £5.00 subscription (1 volume = 4 issues) Social Workers

Other Mental Health Worker People who experience MPD/DID or other Other interested individual dissociative disorder; Charity / Voluntary Sector Organisation Friends / family of someone who experiences a dissociative disorder; Funded M.H. User / Survivor Group Any Mental Health Service User; Statutory Sector Organisation Unfunded M.H. User / Survivor Group Private Sector Organisation

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